


do not let it grieve you

by virgilsjourney (jenna221b)



Series: Sanders Sides Ficlets [18]
Category: Sanders Sides, Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Drama, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Escape, Fantasy elements, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Into The Woods reference, Magic Mirrors, Self-Sacrifice, Sleepy Cuddles, deceit is a villain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 03:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14150736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna221b/pseuds/virgilsjourney
Summary: Roman starts to chuckle, but is cut short at the sound of a low groaning, then cracking sound. As one, they swivel round to see one long crack appearing, right down the centre of one of the largest mirrors.------------------follows 'fight for their mistakes'





	do not let it grieve you

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: swearing; brief non-explicit mention of eye injury; emotional manipulation/abuse; deceit as a villain; negative self-talk

Virgil takes Roman’s hand, quickly pulling him up. He can feel every nerve within him screaming for them to run, but... but where to? Every where he looks, more mirrors seem to appear. He tugs on Roman’s free hand when it reaches up to rub at his eye.

“You’ll make it worse,” he says.

“Sorry, sorry.” Roman blinks and blinks as another tear rolls down silently- and Virgil doesn’t know if it’s just a reaction from the pain or relief or fear or something else entirely. “You’ve no idea how happy I am to see you, Virgil,” he breathes, shaky.

Virgil laughs because, perhaps, if he can still manage that, this whole situation isn’t so bad. “Yeah, I’ve been told I’m a real delight.”

Roman starts to chuckle, but is cut short at the sound of a low groaning, then cracking sound. As one, they swivel round to see one long crack appearing, right down the centre of one of the largest mirrors.

Roman’s nails are starting to dig into his palm, but Virgil doesn’t care. “Stay close to me,” he starts to say, but soon gasps as the crack starts to spread down to the floor.

“Virgil!” Roman says, his voice wavering. And, before either of them can do anything else, Virgil feels thrown back by an invisible force. He feels his hand get wrenched out of Roman’s vice like grip, as the back of his head hits a mirror so hard he sees stars. 

As if from a tunnel, he can hear Roman scream his name over and over again. Virgil shakes his head, and slowly stands only to gape at what he sees.

The crack in the floor has spread so much, that it’s now a jagged chasm that separates him and Roman.

“I’m trying to get to you,” Roman shouts over. “But something-” He pounds at the air in front of him, like there’s an invisible wall blocking him. 

Virgil reaches out, and can’t feel anything. There’s nothing stopping him.

“Do you think you can jump?” 

Virgil stares at him, then at the large breadth of empty space between them. Does he _think_  he can jump? Absolutely no way-

But, maybe it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t think he can. He just  _has_ to jump. He keeps looking down, and his stomach lurches.

“No, Virgil, don’t look- hey, just look at me, right at me!”

But, he can’t do it. The chasm opening yawns in front of him, a dark empty abyss. It’s a very, very long way to fall.

“I-I can’t!” he says, finally looking up. Roman looks aghast. _I’ve failed him, I’ve failed him._

“It’s okay!” Roman says. His voice is still uneven, but Virgil can tell he means it. “Virgil, it’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll do something else, we’ll figure it out-”

There’s a sudden howl of wind, and Virgil is thrown backwards again. When he manages to stand up, Roman is gone.

“No,” Virgil says. Then, again, louder and louder: “No, no, you... you  _bastard!_ ” His voice echoes. He is alone. 

He punches one of the mirrors, but nothing happens, it just makes his hand hurt. What should he do; what does he do; what  _can_ he do without...

And then, he hears a voice, as if carried on a distant wind. He catches the middle of the phrase like he’s just tuned in late on some old radio:

_“No-one leaves for good. You are not alone... no-one is alone.”_

As Roman keeps singing, Virgil can hear roughly where his voice is. He turns, closing his eyes to think, then heads left through the mirror maze. 

“You’re a  _very_ smart Prince,” he calls. He hears an almost hysterical laugh, and changes direction a little, feeling rather than seeing where the sound is. “Keep going, Roman, I’ll... I’ll find you.”

As he walks, he hears the hiss in the air. 

_Very confident. Is that him rubbing off on you?_

“Shut up,” Virgil says. He’s annoyed at himself when he jumps at just seeing his own reflection quickly pass by one of the mirrors. “I know how you work.”

_Oooh, this should be entertaining._

“Bet it’s slightly fucked up your day now,” Virgil continues, aiming for nonchalance even as his heart thuds wildly, “Now that Roman told me the truth.” He peers round a corner slowly, checking for reflections in the glass. “What, nothing to say? What were you planning on? Making me stay in my room forever and no-one would know what-”

He rounds another corner, and his mouth turns dry.

Two Romans are trapped in two separate mirror from the inside. They’re pounding on it with their fists with all their might, perfectly synchronized movements.

“Shit,” Virgil says. He takes one step forward, then back again.

“It’s me, Virgil!” one says, pleading. “Don’t you know me?!”

Above, he hears another deadly crack. Except, now, it sounds like the ceiling might cave in. He stares and stares at both images but they’re perfectly identical, even down to the remaining pink in Roman’s eye. In front of him, the sword appears again. A choice to make.

Too much pressure.

“I-I’m... I’m sorry.” He puts a hand over his mouth, fearing for a horrible moment that he might be sick. “I-I-” He ducks as he hears loud crashes behind him. “I can’t-I- I don’t- I’m sorry, I just d-don’t know-”

“It’s me, Virgil!” one repeats. His voice cracks with every word. “Hurry and help-”

But then, the other breaks the pattern putting one hand up to the glass, palm facing Virgil. “It doesn’t matter, Virgil! Please, just leave me, none of it matters, get out! Be safe!”

Virgil stares and stares at the tears welling in this reflection’s eyes.  _My self-sacrificial idiot._

“It’s you,” he whispers. With the last bit of strength he has, he swings the sword up and smashes the mirror. He gasps at the feeling of familiarity when Roman holds his hand again, knowing he’s made the right choice. 

“Keep running,” Virgil says. His words come out numb as if on autopilot. “We just have to keep on running.”

They run and run as the world caves in around them.

“Here!” Roman yells, tugging Virgil to the side, and suddenly they’re in the dark corridor again, running on, on, on- A door, a door with golden light underneath it, close enough to touch-

They stop running. Virgil sees the chandelier, momentarily made dizzy by the bright lights. They made it. They really made it.

“It’s gone!” Roman is saying, managing a breathless laugh. “My door in the wall,  _his_ \- it’s not- Virgil, we- we did it!”

And normally Roman’s room would bring some sort of comforting warmth to it, but right now all Virgil can focus on is that he still feels trapped, Roman’s door is shut, he can’t- he has to- he can’t  _breathe_ -

“O-open your door,” he gasps, running to it and reaching for the handle, but his palm is too sweaty, and he can’t open it, and he bangs on the door repeatedly, as his chest restricts and, and, and-

“Virgil, it’s okay, you’re okay-”

“Roman, open the fucking door!” His throat stings in protest at his scream. “I swear to god, o-open-”

“Alright, alright, alright,” Roman says quickly, and Virgil hears a click and the door groans a little as it swings open- an old, familiar noise and, oh god, they’re home, they’re really home...

“Look,” Roman says softly, and he gently leads Virgil so they’re standing, one foot in and out of the room. “We can leave, if we want.”

Virgil finally takes one long proper breath in. He starts when he sees Roman flinch, just a little, bringing one hand up to rub at his eye. It’s such a small gesture, but it reminds Virgil of the reality of what just happened, how, even though the glass is gone, the pain doesn’t leave just like  _that_.

His breathing catches on his exhale, and Roman’s eyes widen a bit, only making Virgil notice even more the irritated redness around one of them. 

“I’m s-sorry,” he chokes. The suddenness and strength of his own sobs takes him by surprise, and he stumbles back against the door frame, sinking down to the ground. “I’m so s-so-so-” His words turn into incoherent noises. He can’t stop crying.

“Virgil,” Roman says. He sounds shocked. “ _Hey_ , Virgil, Virgil, Virgil...  _shh_...”  He slides down to the ground, his arms wrapping around Virgil’s shoulders- not too tight, but enough for Virgil to know he’s  _there_. “It’s over, it’s over, we’re going to be alright-”

“I-I was too slow- c-couldn’t figure it out-”

“Stop,” Roman says, hushed. “Stop right there. You were just... Virgil, you were keeping yourself safe, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for-”

“A-and I c-couldn’t stop a-anything- y-your eye-”

“Shh, shh, shh. Don’t worry about a little thing like that-” 

“Little?!” Something in Virgil’s chest snaps. “You got  _hurt_ , that’s not fucking little-”

“Virgil, please, stop talking for a moment, just breathe. That’s it. That’s the only thing you need to be thinking about right now, okay? I’m fine.” 

As if watching from a tunnel, Virgil feels Roman bring him to his feet. They’re walking, Virgil feels himself stumbling.

The couch. Living room. His eyes are burning, everything is heavy.

“I’m not sleeping,” Virgil says firmly.

Roman gives him a long look. “Okay,” he replies. “I get that. I... I didn’t want to either.” 

At first, Virgil thinks he means right now, but then he remembers turning to see Roman crying, after they’d fallen out of the wardrobe:  _“D-don’t let me fall asleep, p-please-”_

Virgil sighs. He can feel his body listing to the side, but Roman soon catches him in time. He only lies down next to him because it’s easier. He isn’t sleeping.

“Can I tell you something, Virgil?”

Roman’s voice is quiet and lulling. Virgil can feel his eyes closing. He isn’t sleeping.

“I’m not scared anymore.”

“Mmm, good,” Virgil tries. He can hear his voice slurring around the edges. “S’good, R...Roman...” He tries to say he isn’t scared either, not now, not when he isn’t alone, but the words drift away... he isn’t... sleeping...

* * *

He wakes up to the soft background noise of cutlery and plates being moved. He doesn’t open his eyes at first, just silently listens and notices. He can hear someone whistling from a little distance away, as the noise of plates being moved continues.  _Patton._

When Virgil opens his eyes, he is surprised to see the knee of dark blue jeans.

“Where’s Roman?” he mumbles.

The knee jumps, and if he hadn’t just woken up, Virgil might have laughed. He sits up to find Logan perched almost apprehensively next to him on the couch.

“Virgil,” he says, breathing out in one long  _whoosh_. “You... startled me.”

“Where’s Roman?” Virgil repeats.

Logan opens his mouth, but it’s Patton who speaks. “Your room.” Virgil whips his head around to see Patton leaning by the counter, gripping a glass with more force than necessary.

“My...  _my_  room? But-”

“It’s alright,” Logan reassures. “I escorted him there. And everything... well, it wasn’t  _all_ as it should be, but it was... safe.”

Virgil frowns. He doesn’t need to look to know Logan and Patton are having a silent conversation on their own. “So, what... what did he tell you?”

A muscle in Logan’s jaw twitches. One hand clenches over his knee before he speaks. “Enough.”

Virgil sighs, and stands up. “I take it he didn’t sleep then?”

Patton smiles, fond and sad. “You were out cold, and he didn’t want to wake you for... he talked for a while.”

Virgil is about to head to the counter himself, when Logan stops him.

“Virgil, I’m-” He looks away. “I’m incredibly sorry, that I didn’t... understand.”

Virgil shakes his head. “It wasn’t your fault. It was-”

“It wasn’t yours either,” Logan says swiftly, with a tone that leaves no room for argument.

And while Virgil still finds that a hard truth to really understand, he knows he must.

“I...” He catches Patton’s eyes. “I’m sorry I- I pushed you.”

Patton practically flies over from the counter, and wraps Virgil in a strong, secure hug. It feels like forgiveness and understanding. It feels like coming home. 

“You were protecting us,” Patton says, and Virgil is only mildly surprised that both Patton and Logan say that at the same time.

* * *

The door to his room is open, which Virgil finds reassuring. Slowly, so slowly, he walks in, and is struck dumb in the doorway.

The wallpaper which concealed that door is gone- and so is the door itself. Instead, Virgil sees a fresh coat of purple paint, with little intricate white spirals looping around in a pattern. It reminds him of his sweater, and it makes him smile.

Then he sees Roman adjusting his Nightmare Before Christmas posters- both somehow in brand new frames, untarnished. 

Roman turns around and sways, clearly more than a little out of it. He has purple paint streaked all over one cheek, and Virgil feels his chest flood with warmth.

“You’ve got paint on your face,” he snorts.

Roman yawns, and it seems to shake through his whole body. He rubs at his cheek blearily, only making it worse. 

Virgil grins. He nods to the freshly painted wall. “Not that this isn’t lovely but- I mean it really  _is_ ,” he adds softly. “Really lovely. But... couldn’t you have just conjured the paint on?”

Roman shrugs, yawning again. “Wanted to do it... properly. For you.”

“Oh.”

“Virgil, I...” A third yawn, and Roman sways again, “I think I’m...”

“Here,” Virgil says, and then they’re both lying together on the bed- Virgil, wide awake but peaceful. “How’s your eye?” he whispers.

There’s a very exhausted smirk in Roman’s voice, but it’s a smirk all the same. “Are you playing  _nursemaid_ , Virgil? What a...” He yawns, and turns towards Virgil in the bed. Virgil wraps his arms around him. “What a lovely dream.”

“You... you didn’t answer the question.”

Roman hums. “Won’t lie...s... stings a bit. ‘M’okay, though. Are... you?”

Virgil breathes in and out. Roman’s hair is almost in his nose, but it’s not that off-putting. Not at all, actually. “Yeah,” he says. “I am. I’ll check your eye after you’ve slept some, yeah?”

“Yeah... know you’re jus’...v’glant...” Roman slurs, and his hand pats Virgil’s shoulder clumsily. It takes Virgil a couple of seconds to work out that Roman was trying to say  _vigilant_. 

“You idiot,” he smiles. “And thank you for... the posters. And... well, everything. I... love them.”

“Love you,” Roman says, so easily, just before his breathing deepens into sleep. 

The room is quiet and still. The door is open. Virgil can breathe again.


End file.
